


Ex Machina

by BearlyWriting



Series: Jason Rare Pair Challenge [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, F/M, Filming, Forced Orgasm, Fucking Machines, Hurt Jason Todd, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Vaginal Sex, mostly just implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: For the DC Kinkmeme prompt:Harley's got the character of your choice tied up, and is using a fucking machine on them.I chose Jason, because of course I did.
Relationships: Harleen Quinzel/Jason Todd
Series: Jason Rare Pair Challenge [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738768
Comments: 21
Kudos: 104
Collections: Jason Rare Pair Challenge





	Ex Machina

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you check the warnings for this one! This fic is basically one graphic rape scene. If that's likely to bother you please don't read this!
> 
> Also, some people will likely find Harley OOC in this, which is totally fair. As a warning, Harley is definitely an irredeemable villain in this fic, rather than an anti-hero or a victim of the Joker's abuse.

Jason struggles into consciousness with a strangled groan. It’s a challenge, because everything in Jason wants to sink back into the comforting emptiness of unconsciousness. Already, there’s a headache starting to pound behind his eyes and his limbs feel inordinately heavy and there’s an uneasy knot twisting tight in Jason’s gut because he recognises this feeling. 

He’s been drugged.

Being drugged isn’t exactly an impossible occurrence in Jason’s line of work. As Robin, Bruce had worked hard on increasing Jason’s tolerance for that very reason - always paranoid that someone might get the better of him if he wasn’t prepared. It’s been part of the bat-curriculum since Dick, but familiarity with the sensation never makes it any more pleasant.

And he feels more out of it than usual. Someone must have given him a hefty dose. Or, more worryingly, given him something that he hasn’t been exposed to before.

Something about the thought of that makes Jason feel cold.

“Wakey, wakey,” a voice calls, high and shrill and like a drill straight through Jason’s muzzy head. “The birds are singing.” A manic little laugh. “Or, I guess they aren’t singing yet.”

Jason blinks, straining through the fuzzy, disorientation that accompanies the drugs in his system. The voice sounds familiar in a vaguely concerning way, but it’s difficult to parse the information he’s receiving when everything feels so muddled. Jason can’t tell where he is. His vision is blurry and unfocused and there’s a painful ringing in his ears and his body feels too far away for Jason to reach. He tries to turn his head to get a better look at his surroundings and it rolls loosely on his neck, everything blurring past him like he’s spinning too fast on some fairground ride.

Fingers thread through his hair and tighten, holding his head still. A face materialises above him. Jason gets a glimpse of white paint and a wide red smile and his chest seizes so suddenly, he chokes. Except, when his vision clears a little, the jumbled features reassemble themselves into something that looks a lot like Harley Quinn rather than the Joker. The tension in Jason’s chest eases a little. It’s not the Joker, but that doesn’t make Jason feel much better.

“You’ve been sleepin’ for a long time, birdy,” she whines, slick red lips pushed out in a pout. On someone else, Jason might have found that cute. On Harley it just looks grotesque. “I was startin’ to think I’d given you a bit too much.”

Something thin and sharp prods lightly at Jason’s neck. He tries to flinch away but the syringe just follows him, scraping against his skin hard enough to hurt, but not enough to actually puncture him. Above him, Harley grins, her teeth very white even against the makeup.

“I’m sure you can see why my professional pride might take a dint at that.” 

The syringe trails up Jason’s cheek, a threatening pressure against his skin, before it stops just beneath his eye. Jason goes perfectly still. He can see the blur of grey metal if he looks down and it sends icy tendrils of fear spiking through his body. All it’ll take is for Harley to drag it a little higher, plunge it into his vulnerable eye, and Jason will be a goner.

“Besides,” she continues as Jason tries to regulate his breathing enough to actually hear her over his own harsh panting, “I don’t think my puddin’ would be too pleased if I killed you.” A sigh. “He’s never liked to share his toys. Even with me.”

That stupid pout is back. Jason wants to say something snarky but the threat of the syringe and the reminder of exactly what could happen make his tongue numb. He tries to lift his arm, to push her away, to punch her maybe, but it doesn’t move. And it’s more than just drug-induced weakness. There’s something cold and hard wrapped around his wrists, pinning them to the table beneath him. When he pulls against them, there’s absolutely no give, just hard metal digging into the delicate skin. Cuffs. He’s been cuffed to a table and Harley Quinn is leaning over him and he’s been drugged.

And, Jason realises, with a queasy lurch of his stomach, his clothes are gone. Not just his armour - but _everything_. He’s as naked as the day he was born, his skin prickled with goosebumps in the chill air, and the way his legs are restrained, spread wide within their own metal cuffs, leaves him uncomfortably exposed.

What the fuck? Jason is used to general strangeness from Gotham’s weirdo villains, but this is something else.

“What the hell are you doing Harley?” he growls, tugging uselessly at the cuffs again, although he keeps his head still under the threat of the syringe still edging beneath his eye. He can’t think of a reason for Harley to have any interest in him at the moment - beyond whatever interest the clowns usually have. He can’t remember fighting her or fucking up her plans or anything like that. The Joker is locked away in Arkham at the moment, of course, but Jason isn’t the one who put him there.

The syringe pulls away but even with it gone there isn’t much Jason can do to help himself. The cuffs are clearly bat-grade, moulded so tightly to his skin that they must have been made special, and even if they weren’t, Jason is still weak from whatever sedative is running through his veins. Helplessness draws his throat tight. It’s not a feeling he’s often had to deal with as Red Hood - although he has plenty of experience from his life before his death - and it has anxiety knotting tight in his gut.

“We’re gonna have some fun,” Harley says, brightly, as if she’s speaking to a preschooler. “Just me and my favourite birdy.”

A hand lands on Jason’s bare chest, the tips of Harley’s fingers edging just beneath one of his nipples. Jason’s skin jumps at the contact. Harley grins again, curling her fingers to scratch lightly over him, spreading more goosebumps in her wake.

Then, abruptly, both hands are gone. Jason blinks a little at the sudden change. He tries to turn his head to see what Harley is doing, but the movement makes him nauseous and his vision is still blurry. She’s back almost as soon as she had gone, anyway, shoving something right in his face. Jason gets a flash of a circular lens, a little blinking red light, before he turns his head away from the intrusion.

“Oh, and whoever I send this video to, of course. I still haven’t decided.”

Video? Oh God. It’s a camera that Harley just shoved in his face. She’s filming this - whatever _this_ is - and that’s never good. Being drugged and kidnapped and strapped to a table isn’t good, but add a camera? It never spells anything but trouble.

“Definitely my puddin’,” Harley continues, ignoring Jason as he strains against his bonds. “He’s so bored locked up in the crazy house. I’m sure he’d love a little present. Daddy Bats too. You don’t call home enough, naughty boy. He’ll want to know what his precious son is up to.”

Fear curls dark and icy through Jason’s gut. Whatever is about to happen is going to be bad, and the last thing Jason wants is for anyone else to see whatever torture Harley is going to put him through. Because torture is the right word, Jason thinks. He’s naked and restrained and at the mercy of a clown. He won’t be surprised if the next thing she pulls out is a crowbar.

It’s bad enough to think about the Joker getting his hands on the recording - enjoying Jason’s pain - the thought of Batman seeing him vulnerable like this leaves an even more bitter taste in Jason’s mouth. It’ll be another strike against Jason - letting himself get captured _again_ , being too weak to stop Harley Quinn of all people. And if Batman doesn’t use it against him, then he’ll be all _concerned father_ about it instead and, honestly, Jason thinks that might be worse.

“Get that fucking thing out of my face,” he snarls. It doesn’t sound as threatening as it normally does, with his helmet and it’s built-in voice-modulator gone, but Jason puts an impressive amount of venom into the words regardless. “And let me go.”

Harley giggles. Then she reaches down with the hand not holding the camera and boops Jason’s nose. He wrenches his head away but it’s not like he has anywhere to go, strapped down to the table and only his head actually under his control.

“Why would I do that, silly? We haven’t even started yet.”

Well, he had to try. Although, he’ll admit he isn’t in the best position for negotiating. 

Harley turns away, then, to settle the camera on it’s tripod - pointing right at the table - and starts rummaging around for whatever instrument of torture she’s planning to use: a crowbar, probably, because the clowns sure love a classic; some Joker venom or fear toxin, maybe; or maybe one of those novelty oversized hammers. That would be a laugh.

Or not. But you can’t say Jason doesn’t have a sense of humour.

Except, when Harley turns back around, she isn’t holding any of those things.

Jason blinks, trying to clear his vision, because maybe he just isn’t seeing this correctly. He’s drugged, and he’s never had the most lucid grip on reality, anyway, after his dip in the Lazarus pit, so it’s not totally out of the realm of possibility that Jason is hallucinating. Although, why his brain would make this up is beyond him.

Because, instead of a crowbar, Harley is holding a small-ish black contraption in her hands. Well, most of it is black, besides the huge, flesh-toned dildo sticking out of it.

Jason’s mouth goes dry. The hysterical urge to laugh bubbles up in his chest and he has to clamp his jaws shut hard to prevent the noise from slipping out. A strange mix of terror and amusement is warring in his chest. There’s definitely a sense of disbelief, some of the fear muted by the fact that she can’t be serious, can she? This is a joke. A poor one, true, but not something he would necessarily put past Harley. _Whoops_ , she’ll say, tossing that awful contraption carelessly aside, _that’s not what I was looking for!_

Only, Harley doesn’t say that. She doesn’t say anything at all as she steps back towards the table, that evil-looking dildo cradled in her hands. When she reaches Jason, she sets the machine down between his spread legs, not close enough to touch him, but enough to be a threat. Jason strains against the cuffs on his ankles, trying to close his legs to make himself less vulnerable, trying to kick out and knock the fucking thing to the floor. The fear is less muted now that it’s actually _here_. The whole situation suddenly seems considerably less funny. 

“Whatsamatta?” Harley asks, cocking her head to the side like a curious puppy, a sick grin spread across her face. “Don’t you like it?”

“No,” Jason chokes out. “What the fuck is that thing? Get it the hell away from me.”

“Language,” Harley chides. One hand curls lightly over the dildo and, God, Jason hopes that her hand is just small because that thing looks _huge_ in comparison. The other strokes up Jason’s stomach, raising goosebumps in its wake. “Remember you’re on camera, birdy. Do you kiss your daddy with that mouth?”

“Fuck you,” Jason snaps, because if any situation warrents swearing, it’s this one. And it’s not as though he could actually forget about the camera or the audience - and if he thought Bruce watching your average common-and-garden torture was bad, knowing there’s even the slight possibility that he might see _this_ is a thousand times worse - but Jason doesn’t particularly appreciate the reminder.

“In a bit,” Harley says, dismissively. “I want to introduce you to my friend first.” She pats the dildo affectionately, like it’s a particularly ugly dog. “He keeps me company while my puddin’s away. I thought he could help you out.”

The hand on Jason’s stomach strokes over his skin in soft, rhythmic passes. Stroke, stroke, stroke. Jason clenches his abdomen, bucks up as best he can in the restraints, trying to knock it off, trying, somehow, desperately, to get free. There’s no more give than before. All he achieves is sending Harley’s hand higher. Fingers brush over his nipple, then pinch together. Jason jerks, muffling a startled yelp behind his teeth.

“You’re always so _stiff_ Hood. You gotta relax a little before you explode.” Another pinch, too hard to be pleasurable. Jason’s breath hitches in his throat. “Mista J won’t be happy if that happens. He wants to do the honours again himself.”

She smiles wide at the camera. Then she bends over Jason, bringing her face close enough to brush her lips over the pulse beating frantically beneath his jaw. Jason thrashes his head, snapping his teeth uselessly around thin air, but the movement sends spikes of pain flaring behind his eyes and nausea swelling up his throat.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Harley murmurs against his skin. “That’s my job.”

She straightens and the hand at Jason’s nipple lifts away. Jason can’t help closing his eyes, even though he knows he shouldn’t, against the queasy spinning of the room. It means he can’t see Harley and whatever fucked up shit she’s doing but...maybe that’s better. It’s not like he can do anything about it. Maybe it’s better not to know.

Over the ringing in his ears, he can hear the faint shuffle of fabric. The snap of latex. Then, horrifically, the click of a tube being opened and the soft _schlick_ of something wet squeezing out. Jason opens his eyes in time to see Harley holding a blue tube of lube up dramatically for the camera, squeezing it liberally over two of her gloved-up fingers. When she catches him watching, she winks, spreading the fingers so the lube strings lewdly between them. Acid surges up the back of Jason’s throat. It’s an image he knows is going to be stamped into his brain for the rest of his Goddamn life.

“What do you think the B-man is doing right now?” Harley asks, as if Jason gives a flying fuck about anything other than what she’s planning on doing with those fingers. She cocks her head at the camera again. “Or not right now for us but...oh, you know what I mean.”

A hand touches Jason’s thigh. Not the one covered in lube, thank God, but the contact still makes his muscles jump like a flighty horse. It’s too high up, edging at the crease of his groin, and the rough cotton makes his skin prickle. It feels almost like she’s burning him - _branding_ him - every nerve in Jason’s body alight with the feel of her.

“I know what Mista J is doing,” Harley says. The tone of her voice is conspiratol, as if they’re sharing a secret. Jason doesn’t need the waggling eyebrows to know exactly what she means. The thought makes him feel even sicker. “But the B-man? You think he’s shouting at the screen? Throwing things?”

Her other hand edges between his spread legs. He can feel the brush of the latex glove against his inner thigh.

“I dunno, that seems more your speed. I reckon Bats is brooding in silence.”

The tips of her fingers _touch_ him: cold and slick and _there_.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason croaks. It sounds weak but his chest is heaving too hard to get enough air for a proper shout. His breath is coming in quick, ragged little pants, fear and anger squeezing his chest tight. Pathetic. God he’s so fucking pathetic. “Don’t fucking touch me, you crazy bitch.”

Harley’s grin doesn’t falter. “Or maybe he doesn’t even care,” she says, coldly, as she spears two of her fingers into Jason in one hard thrust.

It turns out Jason does have enough air to shout. His whole body jerks in his bonds, fighting against the intrusion. He can feel himself clenching around the fingers, feel his muscles working to push them back out where they belong. It hurts. There’s enough lube to mostly slick the way but the sudden stretch stings. The foreign sensation of something _inside_ him brings reflexive tears to his eyes.

It’s humiliating. Two fingers in his ass and the great Red Hood is crying like a little bitch. Threaten him with an audience, and Jason is reduced to a terrified little kid. It’s just pain, Jason tells himself, as Harley drags those fingers out before immediately spearing three back in. This is all just pain. Jason’s dealt with that before. This doesn’t even hurt particularly badly. Jason can handle this. He can get through this.

Harley reaches up and gently thumbs away the gathering bead of a tear. “Awww, did I hurt your feelings birdy?” The fingers in his ass crook, pressing lightly against his walls, as if searching for something. Harley lifts her gloved thumb to her mouth and sucks the taste of Jason’s fear off of it. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s losing his mind over this right about...now.”

The searching fingers find what they were looking for, pressing up hard into Jason’s prostate. It sends an electric jolt of pleasure through him, tightening his groin and burning a fiery line right up his spine. It’s too sharp and brief to even really be enjoyable but Jason’s cock twitches where it rests limply against his thigh, anyway.

“Look at that,” Harley says, smugly. 

Now that she’s found that spot inside of him, she pets over it relentlessly, short, light strokes that send tingles through Jason’s entire body. And Jason’s cock is definitely interested now, starting to fatten up beneath Harley’s ministrations, curving up towards his twitching stomach. Precum leaks from the tip, even though Jason isn’t even fully hard, trickling down his shaft all the way to his balls. Jason bucks his hips in frantic, aborted little motions, but it doesn’t dislodge her. 

“I knew you needed this,” she tuts. She flicks the head of his cock with her free hand and Jason jumps, grinding a startled noise to nothing between clenched teeth. “You Bats are all the same. So repressed.”

The words are an unpleasant reminder of the camera and exactly who could be watching. Jason shuts his eyes, turning his face away from the lens, even though it means turning towards Harley. Blood surges under his skin and he knows it’s painting his chest and face a bright, painful red, but he doesn’t care. Nothing can be more embarrassing than knowing that people might see this: Jason responding to Harley’s fingers in his ass like a horny teenager. Even if this video only gets to the Joker, that’s one person too many.

“Let me out of these cuffs, bitch, and I’ll show you who’s repressed.”

It’s weak - hardly his most witty quip - but, to be fair to Jason, he does have a psychotic clown’s fingers pressing relentlessly against his prostate. He can cut himself a little slack on the thinking front right now.

Harley just spreads her fingers wide (too much, too soon) making Jason grimace in pain, before slipping them free. Jason clenches around nothing. Tries to control his breathing around the sick anxiety swelling in his chest. There’s another squelch of lube, then the slick sounds of a hand moving against rubber. With his eyes closed, Jason can’t actually see it, but he can imagine Harley spreading the lube over that monster cock all too well, regardless.

Then, there’s the shuffle of something across the metal surface of the table and Jason tenses but he somehow still isn’t prepared for the cold touch of the rubber head of the dildo against his hole. He jerks, his eyes flying open, legs straining desperately against their restraints in a bid to get away.

“Don’t,” Jason chokes and even he can hear the pleading whine to his voice. All of that anger, that bravado, has abruptly fled. Because this is happening. This is _happening_. To Jason. This is happening to Jason. Right now. “Don’t do this Harley. The Joker poisoned you, but you aren’t like this. This isn’t you.”

“Awww, that’s sweet, birdy,” Harley coos, stroking through his hair with the hand that, thankfully, wasn’t up his ass two seconds ago. Then she presses the machine forward and Jason’s goes rigid at the sudden increase in pressure.

If this was a movie, this is the moment where someone would burst in and save him. Despite everything, Jason can’t help that little spark of hope in his chest. Batman will save him. Batman will come. That’s how the universe works. This awful, terrible thing won’t be allowed to happen.

And it’s stupid, because Jason, of all people, knows that isn’t true. When he had been hoping and praying in that warehouse for someone to come for him - for _Bruce_ \- the universe had been utterly uncaring of his plight then too. If it had let him die, why would the universe care about saving him from his rape?

Rape. Oh God, Jason is about to be raped.

No, not about to, because Harley pushes a little harder and the tip of that awful dildo pops past the ring of muscle at Jason’s entrance with a sudden flash of pain. Jason grits his teeth hard enough that he thinks something cracks. Only the tip is even in him and it _hurts_. He isn’t sure if he’s going to be able to do this.

“There you go,” Harley says, undisguised delight in her voice. “Mista J is gonna love this.”

Then she reaches between his legs to fiddle with something on the machine, and suddenly the thing is _moving_. It pushes forward in one slow, relentless thrust, carving Jason open around it. Jason’s whole body clenches in agony. It feels as though he’s being torn in two with every painful inch. The thing is huge, bigger than Jason thinks he can take, and it’s not even moving that quickly, but Jason can’t stop a ragged cry from tearing out of his throat as it finally bottoms out. 

“Fuck you,” Jason snarls, breathlessly, as the dildo starts to inch it’s way back again. There’s no second to adjust to the intrusion, no sparing his feelings - just the mercies of an implacable machine. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Harley. Then I’m going to break into Arkham and - _ah_ -”

This time the thrust is harder, faster. Jason feels it all the way in his _throat_. He thinks if he looks down he might see his stomach bulging beneath the relentless press of the machine. Every inch of him feels stuffed to the brim and it’s not a sensation that he’s ever experienced before and he _hates_ it. His rim feels stretched beyond capacity - as if it might tear at any minute. Or maybe it already has.

“Oh _God_. I’m going to break into ah-Arkham and tear your fuckin’ pudding’s head off, too.”

“Promises, promises,” Harely sing-songs. “But what will daddy-Bats think of those threats? I don’t think he’ll be very happy to hear that.”

Jason chokes on fury and pain and embarrassment. The thought of Bruce seeing him like this, strapped down to a table at Harley’s mercy, a dildo pounding in and out of his ass on the arm of a fucking machine, almost makes him throw up. If Jason gets his way, Bruce will never even know this happened. But then, nothing seems to be going his way tonight.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he snarls.

Harley just grins, pressing something on the machine that seems to kick it up a notch. The next time it spears into him, Jason definitely feels something tear. It rips a hoarse cry of pain out of his chest. Tears prickle, hot, behind his eyes. Jason squeezes his lids shut tight to try to keep them from spilling out and so that he doesn’t have to see Harley’s rictus grin or the blankly staring lens of the camera.

He doesn’t see Harley making the adjustment, but he feels it. One moment, the dildo is pounding into him aimlessly, tearing him apart around the enormous girth of it, the next, it’s tilting up until it presses into that spot inside of him with every mechanical thrust.

Jason gasps. He bucks, uselessly, even though he can’t move past the restraints - and even if he could, he isn’t sure if it would make much of a difference. The dildo is so huge, it feels as though there’s no room to shift it inside him. It presses against every single part of him, scraping over his prostate with every brutal thrust, burying itself all the way to the back of his passage.

Pain flares with every movement: burning agony at his rim; a glass-sharp flare deep inside as his inner walls are torn apart beneath the assault; the sharp pinch of the dildo trying to force itself forward even though there’s nowhere else for it to go. And still, Jason feels heat surging under his skin, pooling in his groin. Still, his cock, which had flagged beneath the assault, takes interest again. Jason can feel it stiffening with every pulse of arousal through his stomach.

Blood roars in his ears. His heart is pounding so strongly that it feels as though it’s going to burst right out of his chest. He knows he’s making awful, choked noises, little cut off whines and groans. Ugly little whimpers. But he can’t seem to stop himself. His skin feels as though it’s drawn too tight across his bones. His cock aches with every press against that spot inside him and his thighs tingle and shake in their restraints.

Every part of him is drawn taut as a bowstring. When Harley touches him, Jason half-expects himself to snap.

He doesn’t, of course. Harley presses her palm flat over his stomach and for a wild moment, Jason wonders if she can feel the bulge of the dildo under his skin. It feels as though she should be able to. It feels like the thing is under his fucking ribs.

She whistles, loud and sharp, and Jason bares his teeth in a furious growl that breaks over a moan. “Look at you,” she says, voice breathy with arousal. Her other hand has slipped beneath the waistband of her little booty shorts, fingers moving under the fabric. Jason had been too caught up in his own predicament to notice. “You look good like this, birdy.”

Jason pants, trying to catch enough breath to spit another insult in return. Every half-formed word is punched out of him before he can get his tongue to cooperate. He thinks he might be drooling.

Then Harley is pushing those shorts down smooth, pale legs and Jason slams his eyes shut to avoid the sight of her, but he can’t avoid the brush of her skin as she heaves herself onto the table, straddling Jason’s hips, looming over him like some awful bird of prey. The inside of her thighs kiss the swell of each hip bone. He can feel the heat of her above him.

“Don’t,” he chokes and, just like before, she ignores him.

Fingers close around Jason’s erection and he jolts. Despite everything, Harley’s touch feels _good_ and Jason fucking hates it, but he can’t stop the burst of pleasure as she pumps her hand over him. Then there’s slick heat at the head of his dick, warm and wet as Harley rubs her folds against his skin.

“God,” she moans and Jason’s flesh crawls like it wants off of his fucking body. “This is gonna be so good.”

Then she sinks down in one smooth movement, taking his dick all the way to the root. Jason’s mouth drops open, a strangled sound that might be a moan caught in his chest. Above him, Harley lets out her own moan, fuller and throatier than Jason’s - considerably less strangled with shame. The machine batters into him and Jason feels himself _throb_ within the tight, velvery clutch of Harley. Know she feels it too. Hates her with a burning passion so strong that he can barely breathe. Hates himself.

“Oh _Puddin’_ ,” Harley gasps, as she starts to rock herself against Jason. It doesn’t take long for her hips to pick up speed, lifting herself up until only the head of Jason’s cock is still inside her, then dropping all the way back down in one brutal thrust. The rhythm is at odds with the pounding of the dildo inside of Jason and the disconnect keeps him painfully present. There’s no chance for him to adjust. No way for him to get used to this two-pronged violation. Pleasure and pain scorch hot paths under his skin until Jason isn’t entirely sure which is which. Until he barely feels human, just a sad sack of meat for Harley to use as she pleases.

“Yes,” Harley pants. “Yes, Puddin’, feels so good Mista J.”

One of her hands braces against his chest, her fingers splayed over his nipple. The other reaches up to palm over her own breast, rucking the material of her croptop up to expose pale flesh and one pebbled nipple. Jason grinds his teeth so hard they might break to keep his own noises trapped in his throat. Bites his lip bloody when Harley picks up the pace, grinding against him in a frantic rhythm.

“I’m gonna..” she gasps, bouncing so hard that Jason’s hips feel bruised. “I’m gonna…”

To his endless shame, Jason feels close too. He can feel it building in his gut, tingling in his thighs and across his belly. The dildo sends electric jolts of pleasure-pain through him with every thrust. His cock throbs in the tight clutch of Harley’s cunt, twitching after her each time she lifts herself to the tip. Jason tries to writhe in the restraints but he’s held so firm he can barely move and something about that sets a little spark in his belly too.

Then Harley slams herself back down on his cock and comes with a strained cry, seizing and pulsing around him and Jason feels his own balls draw tight. Feels the rush of pleasure under his skin as his hips buck and his cock twitches and he crests over his own orgasm with a hoarse shout, pulsing up into Harley in frantic, spasmodic spurts.

Harley slumps over him, dropping over his heaving chest as Jason pants desperately for breath. The machine hasn’t let up at all, still hammering at Jason’s prostate and it _hurts_ too much stimulation when Jason is raw and oversensitive.

“Please,” he manages. “Please, make it stop.”

For a moment, he thinks Harley might ignore him. Then she shifts up onto her knees to hover over him, a wicked grin on her face. Jason can see his own come trickling out of her, dripping down onto his still-hard prick as she kneels over him. When Jason shuts his eyes to block the sight out, something hot and wet trickles over his cheek. He’s crying. How long has he been crying? The whole time? 

Finally, he feels Harley’s weight lift off of him and then the dildo abruptly dies. Jason almost sobs in relief - does sob as Harley pulls it carelessly out of him. Something wet leaks out after it, although whether it’s lube or blood, Jason doesn’t know.

“Look at that,” Harley says. She sounds fucked-out. It’s not something he’d ever wanted to hear. “You did good little birdy. Mista J’ll be pleased.”

She shuffles around and Jason opens his eyes just in time to see her lift the camera from it’s tripod and direct the lense at her own legs, where Jason’s come stains her skin. Bile surges up his throat at the thought, at the sight, and Jason has to swallow hard to keep from choking on it.

“I know he wishes this were him, but hopefully this’ll make the big house a little easier on him.” 

She spins around, shoves the lens into his face before panning down over his chest to his rapidly-softening cock, then down between his thighs. Jason strains against his bonds despite knowing it’s pointless. Feels more liquid slide out of him. Hopes, desperately, that Harley doesn’t make good on her threat of sending this to anyone, even though she’d made good on everything else. He can’t imagine what he looks like right now. Can’t imagine anyone else seeing this.

“I don’t think the B-man will like it quite as much.”

“If you send him that video I’ll fucking kill you,” Jason growls, hoarsely. He can handle the Joker, if he has to. Knowing that sick freak is getting his jollies off over what Harley has done to Jason is awful, stomach curdling, vomit-inducing. Bad. But it’s nothing compared to the idea that Bruce might see it. That Jason’s sometimes dad and sometimes enemy might see Jason so vulnerable, so weak and filthy and _used_ is a thousand times worse.

Harley just tuts, waving one hand dismissively in a way that makes the camera tilt and sway in her grip. “I’ll send this to whoever I like, little birdy. You won’t be able to stop me.”

Jason growls. His ass throbs and his muscles ache from fighting against his restraints and his own come is drying, sticky on his cock. And the only thing Jason wants more than for Harley to not send that video, is for this to not have happened in the first place. Which isn’t possible because it _happened_ and Jason can’t change that.

“I might send it to the other birdies too, huh? Nightwing seems like the kinda guy who’d get a kick out of this, don’t he?”

She’s lying, Jason tells himself, desperately. There’s no way. She wouldn’t bring the bats down on herself like that. Nightwing won’t see this. Batman won’t see this. It happened, but if that video doesn’t make it out of here, he can pretend it didn’t.

“You’re sick,” he snarls. “And you don’t want to bring this on yourself. If you think the bats-“

“I don’t think about the bats,” Harley says with a little giggle. “And you don’t need to think about anything. You’ve done your part. It’s sleepy time now birdy.”

“No.” The syringe has reappeared, held threateningly in Harley’s gloved hand. She crosses the space between them and presses the tip against his throat. “Don’t put me under. _Please_.”

Harley ignores his plea just like she’s ignored every other plea of his. The needle slips into his neck with a sharp pinch. It’s not painful - not compared to everything else that has happened to him tonight - but he lets out a little wounded noise regardless.

Then the drug hits him. A rush of warmth through his veins that immediately makes his limbs feel like lead. He blinks and the world spins dizzily. Above him, Harley’s face swims nauseatingly through his vision. 

_No_ , he wants to say, except the words don’t come out. _Don’t do this_. Only, that doesn’t come out either.

He blinks again and this time his eyes don’t re-open. The darkness rushes up to meet him and, as much as Jason struggles, he can’t resist it.


End file.
